


Donkey Skin

by Lilac_the_wolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Donkey Skin, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Animal Death, Fairy John Watson, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, King Mycroft Holmes, M/M, Mpreg, Prince Jim Moriarty, Prince Sherlock Holmes, References to Drugs, Sex scene in chapter 6 only, There's a cameo of Arsene Lupin at some point, and it's not very descriptive, but not the main couple, mentions of rape/non-con, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilac_the_wolf/pseuds/Lilac_the_wolf
Summary: Prince Sherlock must marry and give an heir to the throne, that's what his brother said. But it's the last thing he wants. With the Lilac Fairy John's help, he's going to try to escape his fate. On his journey, he will meet Jim Moriarty, the prince of a neighboring kingdom and maybe form a very special bond with him.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/John Watson (one-sided), Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13





	1. Love, love, but arranged

**Author's Note:**

> So, a little explanation about this fic. It is inspired by the 1970 French musical movie Donkey Skin, way more than by the original fairy tale. It follows the brode strokes of the story, but it's also quite different, because the characters are (obviously) different.
> 
> As for the trigger warnings, read the tags carefully please.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy reading it !
> 
> (And also I have no idea why I wrote this fic, the plot sounded less weird in my head I swear)

Once upon a time there was a king who ruled over one of the greatest kingdoms, a kingdom called the Blue Kingdom. He was such a great king, so loved by his people, so respected by all the neighbouring kingdoms, that it could be said that he was the happiest of all monarchs. His happiness was further confirmed by the choice he had made to reign alone. He took pleasure in being the only master in his kingdom, since the tragic death of his parents at a young age. There was only one person at his side, his younger brother, gifted with so much intelligence and knowledge, that he needed no one else to keep him company. Magnificence, taste and abundance reigned in his palace. The buildings were magnificent and the stables were vast and filled with the most beautiful horses in the world. However, in the middle of all these pure breeds horses, stood a simple donkey, who had the most beautiful stable, in the most apparent place of the palace. This may seem unfair, but if one knows its virtues, the honour does not seem too great.

The parents of the now king had given this donkey an almost affectionate nickname. The banker donkey. He had acquired his name from the jewels that his intestines rejected on a daily basis. Every morning the king used to come down from his castle and retrieve some of the jewels, increasing the wealth of his kingdom with each passing day. Every day was a feast. Every day was a banquet. Everything was perfect in appearance. Until that fateful day.

“The Ministers !”

The king, who had so far been leaning against the window sill, observing a dove standing here, looked back at the call as the dove flew away. His red hair was largely hidden by a crown of silver and sapphires, with reflections as cold as his eyes. Nothing could be seen on his face, especially not the happiness that everyone attributed to him. Five men entered one by one. The king went to sit on his throne, which represented a white cat. The ministers knelt down before him.

“I'm listening,” said the king with a bored look on his face.

“We thought majesty...,” began one of the ministers, rising like the others.

The king interrupted him with a wave of his hand.

“Lestrade, how many times must I repeat it ?”

“Excuse me... Mr Holmes,” said Minister Lestrade with a grimace.

Chief Minister Lestrade didn't like it when the King tried to distance himself from power, by refusing to be called by his rightful title, for example. For him, the king had to love being king at all times, and love to be reminded that he was king.

“We thought, sir, that it was bad for you, and the state, not to have an heir for the throne yet.”

“Why,” said Mycroft, rising with a frown, before descending the two steps separating him from his ministers, “do you always ask me the impossible ?”

On his impassive face one could see well-hidden traces of anger and impatience. Mycroft did not want an heir. Even less a consort. He knew how dangerous it was. As in all kingdoms, if something happened to him and his heir ,when he'll be born, by law, the kingdom would revert to his consort, not to his brother. And he did not want to take that risk. But the traces of emotions quickly disappeared from his face, replaced once again by the mask of indifference.

“The state demands a successor prince,” insisted one of the five ministers. “For his rest and tranquillity.”

“The kingdom is at peace,” said Mycroft as he began to pace. “It does not want war.”

“Sir,” said Lestrade, “the meeting of the council can only agree with you.”

Mycroft turned to Lestrade with a surprised look on his face.

“But,” continued Lestrade, “the council is also meeting to counsel you.”

Mycroft almost rolled his eyes at not only that ridiculous sentence, but also at what it implied. He knew he had no choice. He never had a choice.

“I understand your reasons,” he said as he walked away from the ministers. “I can get my brother married, and demand an heir from him. We must find him a beautiful wife, or a beautiful husband.”

“It does not matter how beautiful they are,” said one of the ministers, “as long as they are virtuous and fruitful.”

The king suddenly turned around.

“I do not share this idea,” he said dryly. “Ask the princes and princesses in the neighbouring states who are in search of a husband, find someone suitable for him, who could produce an heir. Go on !”

He walked towards the exit of the throne room, whispering to himself:

“He or she won't be here for long anyway.”

A few days later, Mycroft had made his choice for his brother, without bothering to consult him first. All he had left to do was to break the news to him, announce that he had postponed as much as possible. He was, as he often did, in one of the inner courtyards of the castle, playing the violin by the well, among the blossoming trees, his brother noticed as he leaned out of one of his bedroom windows. On a perch not far from him, a parrot seemed to be listening attentively to him. He saw the Chief Minister, Lestrade, approaching him. But he did not stop playing the violin. He was able to hear Lestrade's voice above the music.

"The King your brother sent me to fetch you," he said. "He is waiting for you."

The music stopped abruptly. All that could be heard now was the twittering of the birds, and the parrot, who reproduced the same heady tune his brother had just played.

One or two minutes later, the king's brother entered the throne room where his majesty was waiting for him, installed on the throne. He still held his violin in his hands. He stood before the throne, with an air of defiance on his face. His long light blue coat gave him a truly royal appearance. He said nothing. But the king just looked at him without saying anything either. Finally, Sherlock sighed and spoke.

“Have you sent for me, my dearest brother ?” he asked curtly.

“Does that surprise you ?” said Mycroft with a smile as he leaned forward, letting a few emotions, perhaps true, perhaps false, show on his face.

“I haven't seen you often since you became king,” Sherlock said in an almost bitter tone.

Mycroft began to rise slowly from his throne.

“Have you suffered from it ?” he asked as he approached Sherlock.

Sherlock wheezed.

“No, I haven't ! I can do whatever I want.”

“Like repainting your violin ?,” Mycroft asked, touching the brown wood with his fingertips.

Sherlock pulled the instrument away from his brother as if he'd just done something really offensive.

“I don't understand this obsession with blue,” Sherlock said.

“It's a thousand-year-old tradition, Sherlock.”

“Even those poor horses are painted blue !” exclaimed Sherlock.

“It's a tradition,” repeated Mycroft.

“Traditions are stupid,” Sherlock said. “Why did you send for me ?”

“You'll have to have your violin repainted,” said Mycroft as he walked away. “Order from your king.”

Sherlock grimaced. He would have liked to protest, but he knew it would be useless. All the servants in the castle, all those idiots who dyed their skins blue, were on the side of the king, not the prince. He saw his brother take one of the books from one of the shelves in the throne room.

“I heard you playing just now. It was very beautiful.”

“And it wouldn't be more beautiful if my violin was blue,” said Sherlock.

Mycroft didn't think it necessary to answer him.

“If you like music,” he said, “you must also like poetry, mustn't you ?”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders as his brother opened one of the books and began to read. He didn't listen to a word he said. Sherlock loved poetry, but not the poetry his brother loved. It was poetry that was too pretentious, too pompous for him, but it fitted in perfectly with his brother. When he had finished reading a few lines, Mycroft raised his head to look up at his brother, not realising that he had been completely ignored.

“I have always preferred the poets of tomorrow to the poets of ancient times,” he said. “It was your friend, the lilac fairy, who gave it to me.”

“I wouldn't have guessed,” said Sherlock. “Because I know a lot of people who can bring back books from the future. Why did you call on me ?”

The king put the book back on the shelf and took out a second one. He definitely didn't seem to want to answer his brother.

“If you're going to ignore me, I'm going to leave,” Sherlock said, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Listen to this other poem,” replied Mycroft.

This time Sherlock listened with a distracted ear.

“The ring is placed on the ring finger.  
After the kiss of confession  
What our lips whispered  
Is in the ring of the ring finger”

Mycroft looked his brother straight in the eye.

“You're going to get married in a month, and give the Crown an heir,” he said.

Sherlock looked at him silently for a moment.

“No,” he said. “No.”

Mycroft gave him a big smile. A cold smile.

“That's not an acceptable answer,” he said.

“But it is my answer. If you want an heir, do it yourself.”

Mycroft approached Sherlock.

“I want to rule alone. And all I'm asking is that you do that for a couple of months.”

“A couple of months ?”

“If the wife I choose for you is not suitable, we'll make her... disappear.”

Sherlock sighed.

“And they call you a kind and benevolent king, ready to kill a princess.”

“Not kill her, just...”

He didn't finish his sentence. Because there was no point in finishing his lie.

“Nothing I can say to you will change your mind, will it ?” Sherlock asked.

“Correct.”

Sherlock knew that protesting was pointless. His brother's will was unwavering.

“At least give me some time to think,” he said.

That would give him time to think not about his answer, but about a plan, or anything else to escape his fate. He didn't want to get married, let alone to a woman, let alone to have an heir.

“All right,” replied Mycroft, “come back tomorrow to say yes. I've already started the wedding preparations.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and headed for the exit.

“Sherlock,” said Mycroft.

He turned round.

“Don't forget to get your violin repainted.”

Sherlock glanced at him with a look half exasperated, half desperate. Mycroft replied with a big smile. Sherlock turned again towards the exit and walked away, carefully snapping his feet on the stone floor.

Less than an hour later, Sherlock had swapped his coat for a much less obvious black cape and he was hiding behind a door. He watched a guard pass by, and waited for him to disappear at the turn of one of the towers of the castle to come out. Quickly he jumped into one of the boats anchored to the river, an obviously blue boat, and untied the rope that tied him to the bank. Slowly, the boat advanced over the water, entering the forest, making the small boat disappear from the view of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this first chapter, and as ever, feel free to leave comments !


	2. John's advices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets with John and listen to his plan.

The boat finally stopped, in the heart of the forest, against a small wooden deck, in the shade of the trees. Sherlock jumped out of the boat and got rid of his cape, which he threw in the bottom of the boat. There was no danger of being spotted here, the soldiers never went inside the forest. He began to advance in the woods, on a small dirt road that was traced by many back and forth movement, mainly his own, and those of the person he was going to see. He advanced at a great pace, not seeming to be disturbed by the almost enchanted aspect of this part of the forest. He was used to it. As he was getting closer to his destination, he saw a young deer with not yet fully formed antlers, and it stared at him for a moment before running away, in the direction of the path he was taking. A few seconds later, he arrived in front of a huge lilac bush taller than him. But he didn't slow down. The branches opened up as he passed, revealing a large clearing. He passed under a huge stone arch, the top of which had long since collapsed, and each side of which was decorated with statues damaged by time. He walked towards the back of the clearing where the deer had visibly preceded him. The place was laid out in a rather strange way. There was a long dry fountain overlooked by a statue similar to those that adorned the collapsed arch. And next to it was a small bench and a small table carved in stone, facing a blue mirror surrounded by plants and flowers made of a material that was unknown to Sherlock. As he approached, he could see his reflection in the mirror. Yet there was someone else in front of the mirror.

“It's unusual to see you at this hour,” said the man.

“It's an emergency, John,” replied Sherlock.

As he spoke, the prince approached a white device placed beside the mirror. It was an emergency, but his curiosity was still too strong not to ask questions about the various objects that regularly appeared in the clearing.

“It's new, what is it ?” he asked, turning to his friend.

“A telephone,” John replied distractedly as his reflection appeared in the mirror.

Sherlock would have asked him what it was, but he knew that explanations always took time and were complicated, and now he didn't have any time, so he had to restrain himself.

“I...,” Sherlock began.

“I already know about it,” John answered before he could even make a sentence.

Then staring at the mirror, he muttered:

“The yellow doesn't suit me at all.”

No sooner had he said that that the clothes he was wearing changed colour, from a yellow suit to a purple one, which didn't suit him any better than the first one, Sherlock thought without saying so. John turned towards him.

“We need a plan,” said John.

“That's why I'm here. Can't you just make my brother disappear ?”

John sighed and shook his head.

“No, Sherlock, we're not going to make your brother disappear. What we have to do is change his mind without contradicting him.”

It was Sherlock's turn to sigh. Of course John wouldn't want to make him disappear. He had always more than liked the king.

“Why don't you give him an heir ?” said Sherlock.

John grimaced.

“No,” was his only answer. “I've got a plan.”

Sherlock knew there was no point in asking him why, he wouldn't answer.

“I'm listening,” he said.

“You have to put your brother in an impossible situation. Set a condition for the marriage that he won't be able to fulfil.”

“He's the king of the richest kingdom in the world, there's nothing impossible for him,” Sherlock replied.

John laughed, as if Sherlock had just said something absolutely ridiculous.

“Richest of the known lands of this world,” he corrected. “Do you still like to wear those long coats ?”

“Yes, but I don't see the connection.”

“Ask him to make you a coat... the colour the weather,” said John.

“Colour of the weather ?” Sherlock repeated.

“It's terribly complicated,” said John.

He smiled widely.

“And very expensive. He'll never agree to do that.”

Sherlock looked pensive for a few moments. The plan seemed absolutely ridiculous. Then he realised that it was probably only the first step in a larger plan.

“So if I make it a condition for getting married, do you think he won't be able to do it ?” Sherlock asked.

“My plan will work,” John replied evasively.

“But your plan is bigger than that and as usual you're not going to reveal anything to me until the end,” Sherlock asked with a jaded look.

John just smiled. Sherlock knew he would not reveal his plan to him until the end. He always did that, especially if the end of the plan contained something Sherlock wasn't going to like.

“As long as you're sure it's going to work,” Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fairies are always right, Sherlock,” replied John.

Sherlock decided his only choice was to trust him.

He returned to the castle a few minutes later and immediately went to the throne room where his brother still was.

“A coat the colour of the weather ?”

Mycroft, sitting on his throne, looked with surprise at his brother.

“Yes dear brother, if you want me to satisfy your whim, you must satisfy mine,” Sherlock replied.

“And you will marry without protesting ?”

“Yes, I will.”

Mycroft smiled. It was much easier than he thought.

The next morning, when Sherlock woke up, something had been placed at the foot of his bed. A coat. Sherlock slowly got out of bed and approached the coat. He hadn't seen anything like it. The coat seemed to have been cut out of the blue sky itself, and the clouds were moving slowly over the fabric. He put it on without thinking too much and approached his mirror. It looked very nice on him, he remarked with a smile. Then his smile faded away.

“He did it,” he said aloud.

“It's really a splendid thing,” said John, appearing beside him. “He must really be determined to succeed at this.”

Sherlock turned towards him.

“And what should I do now ? What is the second step of your wonderful plan ?”

John sighed.

“Don't be so mocking Sherlock, I'm trying to help you.”

“You could solve everything with a wave of your magic wand.”

“Things are a lot more complicated than you think, Sherlock.”

Sherlock thought that on the contrary, things were very simple, but that John didn't really intend to help him. But of course he didn't say any of this out loud.

“You have to ask him for something even more impossible,” John continued.

“But what ?”

“A coat... the colour of the moon. Because the first one can hardly be worn at night.”

It was Sherlock's turn to sigh.

“He'll do it, I know he will.”

“We'll see. We must test his determination.”

This is what Sherlock did as soon as he left his room, immediately going to see Mycroft.

“And how many requests am I going to get like this ?”

“Until I am satisfied.”

Mycroft sighed.

“Very well,” he said. “You shall have it.”

And sure enough, the next morning, the promised coat was at the foot of his bed. Once again Sherlock got up, put it on, and went to stand in front of the mirror. It was even more beautiful than the previous one, and seemed to have been made of pure silver, yet it was very light.

“I almost feel like giving in,” said Sherlock.

“You can't do that,” said John as he stepped out from behind the mirror.

“And why not ? After all, he said that if I didn't like her, he'd get rid of her.”

The look in John's eyes made him understand that he would never let him accept. And Sherlock knew that he shouldn't let himself be dazzled by the beautiful gifts, because their final purpose was still as sinister as ever. But Mycroft's determination seemed unshakeable as his own was beginning to fade. If he obeyed his brother, he would only have to suffer a few months before things would return to normal.

“We have to keep stalling, my charm isn't working any more,” John whispered to himself.

“What ?” Said Sherlock.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Sherlock frowned.

“I think I'm beginning to understand your plan,” he said.

John shook his head.

“You only see the surface of it,” he replied. “You have to ask him for the impossible once more.”

“What colour this time ?” Sherlock sighed.

“The sun.”

“He'll give it to me.”

“We'll see.”

A day later, Sherlock was standing in front of his mirror, wearing the coat that seemed to be made out of gold thread. John had just left, after giving him what he said was his last bit of advice. And the prince could feel a bitter taste in his throat. For he knew what he was about to ask his brother, and was disgusted with himself. Rageously he took off the coat and threw it on the ground.

“Don't you like it ?”

Sherlock turned around. His brother was standing in the doorway.

“What are you playing at, Sherlock ? You know you can't escape it.”

Sherlock approached him.

“I have one last request,” he said.

Mycroft smiled.

“Again ? I thought you understood I could do anything.”

Sherlock approached his brother until he was just inches away from him.

“I want the skin of that poor, bored donkey in the castle stables.”

Mycroft lost his smile and looked almost horrified at Sherlock.

“My banker donkey ?”

“Exactly.”

The king bit his lips. He restrained his anger. But not towards Sherlock.

“It wasn't your idea. Such a horrible thing... I'm sure it came from that damn fairy...”

“It doesn't matter where the idea comes from, it's my condition if you want me to obey you.”

Mycroft looked at him silently for a moment. Then he turned on his heels and left without saying a word.

Sherlock spent the day turning around in his bedroom. He didn't have a single sign from John all day. In the evening, Sherlock went to bed still not knowing if his brother would dare to satisfy his request. He hoped he would not. The prince remembered the donkey very well. He was already there when he was born. He and his brother often played in the courtyard, under the watchful eye of their parents. Mycroft would help him on the donkey's back, and he would spend whole afternoons riding around the courtyard, always under his brother's surveillance. Even when he was too old to ride the donkey, he and his brother spent time in the stables, just chatting and looking after the animals. But all this was before their parents died. Sherlock was brought out of his daydreaming by footsteps in the corridor leading to his room. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He heard the door to his room creak open and then footsteps approaching his bed. At the same time he could smell something. It was the smell of fresh blood. He felt something being laid against him. He couldn't help it and opened his eyes wide. He came face to face with the donkey's head and the rest of his skin spread out on the bed. Slowly he turned his head to the right where his brother was standing. Mycroft was standing up straight, as always, but there was something dark in his eyes when he looked at Sherlock. The prince looked down and saw that his hands were still covered with the donkey's blood.

“You really did it,” said Sherlock in a shaking voice.

And he'd done it himself, with his own hands.

“Since that was your wish,” replied Mycroft in a cold tone.

Sherlock looked him straight in the eye.

“All this to force me to marry a woman you're going to kill after.”

Mycroft knelt down by the bed and grabbed his brother's arm.

“It's for our future Sherlock,” he said, a little less emotionless than before. “When it is all over, the heir will be entrusted to a nursemaid, and we will be the only ones to rule this kingdom until we die.”

“You're including me in your plans ?” Sherlock said in a slightly broken voice.

“Of course, I know I've let you down a bit in the last few years, but that's over now, you and I will rule this kingdom, with no one else.”

Sherlock looked at him silently for a moment. He was perfectly serious. He pulled his arm out of his brother's grip and looked at him sadly.

“You're crazy,” he said.

“Sherlock...”

“You've been crazy since Mummy and Daddy died.”

Mycroft said nothing. He got up slowly. 

“Please get out of my room,” Sherlock said calmly, looking at the traces of blood Mycroft had left on the sleeve of his white pajamas.

Mycroft hesitated for a moment, then he walked to the bedroom door. Before leaving he turned around one last time.

“I hope you enjoy your present,” he said in an unemotional voice.

Sherlock was able to hear his footsteps as he walked down the corridor. As soon as he couldn't hear anything anymore, he jumped to his feet.

“I have to go,” Sherlock said.

“That's good, you're anticipating my plan,” John said as he appeared before him.

Sherlock looked at him with a dark look on his face.

“You knew he would do it. And that it would hurt him as much as it would hurt me. Why ?”

John turned round, pretending to admire the miniature representation of the castle in the room.

“Fairies hold grudges,” he said.

Sherlock sighed.

“Get out of here, I don't need you anymore.”

“At least take this,” John said.

Sherlock looked at what he was handing him. It was a silver stick.

“I've already explained to you what it's for,” said John.

Sherlock took it without thanking him. Then he took the donkey's skin and pulled the poor animal's head down over his own. He quickly looked around the room. John had already disappeared. Perfect. He didn't need his help. He didn't need anyone to decide his future for him. A glance in the mirror was enough for him to understand that, dressed like that, no one would recognise the prince. But his brother wasn't stupid. He had to get out of the kingdom's territory quickly, to a place where the guards would not be allowed to come and get him, because the king would not fail to inform them that he had left with the donkey's skin. He had to leave immediately. A long journey awaited him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this new chapter, and as always feel free to leave comments !  
> Also, I hope to keep a regular schedule, so next chapter should be up next Saturday.


	3. Donkey Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock ran away from the castle, and arrives in a farmhouse.

As soon as he left his room, Sherlock noticed something was wrong. He couldn't hear a sound in the whole castle. Not the sound of the guard's footsteps, not the neighing of a few sleep-deprived horses, nor the singing of the night birds. He walked cautiously down the corridor. He knew that there was always a guard making his rounds at the end of the corridor. And he saw him. He was at the end of the corridor, but he wasn't moving. Sherlock came up to him and the guard didn't react. He had one foot up, as if he was moving forward, but he wasn't moving forward. It was as if something had petrified him. As the prince advanced towards the exit of the castle, he realised that it was useless for him to hide. All the living creatures that lived here had been petrified, as if frozen in time. Probably a trick of John, Sherlock thought. When Sherlock arrived at the castle gate, he saw two white horses harnessed to a white carriage that seemed to be waiting for him. The prince hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to accept the fairy's help, but at the same time he couldn't see any other way to escape quickly. He got into the carriage, and immediately the horses started to move forward. The inside of the carriage was covered with white feathers which Sherlock had no desire to know where they came from. The windows of the vehicle were so frozen that he couldn't see outside, so he couldn't see where he was being taken. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't open. With a sigh of resignation he let himself fall backwards into the white feathers that covered the floor. He stood still for a long time, staring at the low ceiling. Then finally he let himself be carried away by sleep.

When he woke up, what he saw was the blue morning sky. Yet he was still moving. He sat up. The two white horses were still there, but the carriage had been replaced by a wooden cart, filled with straw, on which Sherlock was now sitting. Slowly, the horses stopped and Sherlock looked around him. He was in a forest, which looked very much like the one near the castle. But at the same time it was different enough for him to know that it wasn't the same one. His eyes fell on the spot where the horses had stopped and he saw that they and the cart had disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of straw on which Sherlock was. He jumped off the straw pile and landed on a dirt track. He decided to follow it. He didn't get very far until he was in front of a city wall. In this wall there was a wooden door, framed by statues of two bronze lions. As he approached, the two door panels opened wide. Sherlock tightened the donkey's skin on his shoulders and folded his head over his own. Hiding like this proved to be useless. He had just entered the grounds of a large farmhouse where everyone, either working or just talking, had been petrified like those in the castle. There was only one person apart from him who did not seem to have been touched by the spell. It was an old woman who watched him walk towards her from the landing of what must have been her house, at the back of the farmhouse.

“Come in, Donkey Skin,” said the old lady with a warm smile, “I've been waiting for you.”

Sherlock followed her into what looked more like a furnished stable than a house. The floor was made of dirt and there was not much furniture.

“You're just in time, I needed an assistant,” she said.

“An assistant ?” Sherlock asked, looking slightly confused.

“I'll explain later,” she replied. “You must be thirsty.”

A cup was set down in front of him.

“This is tea,” she said.

Sherlock had already heard of this drink in the books John had brought him from the future, but he never tasted it before. He brought the burning liquid to his lips.

“It's delicious,” he said. “Are you a fairy too ?”

“Oh no,” laughed the old lady, “I'm a witch. You can call me Mrs. Hudson, that's what everybody calls me.”

Sherlock drank his tea in silence while Mrs. Hudson was busy doing whatever it was she was doing. At one point he saw her approach a raven perched on the chimney, whispering something to him, then the raven flew away. He was halfway through his cup when she came and sat down next to him.

“I'm sure you must have a lot of questions,” she said.

She was right, and Sherlock accepted her suggested invitation to ask her some questions.

“Why is everyone petrified ?” Sherlock asked.

“A gift from the lilac fairy,” Mrs. Hudson replied. “They'll all wake up soon, don't worry, and they won't have noticed a thing. These last twenty-four will have existed only for you.”

Sherlock took another sip of his tea. His mind seemed clear for the first time in the last few days. He knew that his situation was not particularly enviable, but it was still better than staying in the castle waiting for his fate. He didn't even know how he had even considered giving in to his brother at one point. And now he found himself in front of this woman, who was probably from the future, and who was ready to answer his questions. Every time he asked John questions, he either didn't answer him or he did so in an evasive way. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

“You said you were a witch. What's the difference with fairies ?”

Mrs Hudson thought for a moment before answering.

“Witches come from a less distant future than fairies. Our aim in coming here is to live a calmer and simpler life than in our time. And if we can help people at the same time, that's a bonus.”

“What about fairies ?” Sherlock asked with interest.

Mrs. Hudson kept her expression pleasant but he could see a shadow in the witch's eyes.

“They come from much further away than we do. I am not even sure they are from this world. Some are very nice and are here for the same reason we witches are, but others... have more selfish interests.”

Sherlock put down his cup and stared at Mrs. Hudson.

“And the lilac fairy belongs to what category do you think ?”

“I don't know,” replied Mrs Hudson sincerely. “He's always been nice to me, but I don't know him well. I once asked him what interest he had in living alone near the castle of the blue king, and he never answered me.”

She leaned over to Sherlock with a conspiring look on her face.

“I'd be you I wouldn't trust him too much,” she warned him.

“He's my friend,” Sherlock said. “But it's true that these days I have trouble knowing his intentions. Anyway, I don't intend to go back to the castle.”

Mrs. Hudson patted him on the arm with a sympathetic look.

“It's terrible what's happening to you,” she said. “But don't worry, everything will be all right.”

Sherlock gave her a sad smile.

“Even if it all works out, I know... I know I've lost my brother forever.”

Mrs Hudson stood up.

“Would you like a piece of cake ?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock said.

A plate with a tempting piece of cake appeared in front of him.

“What has happened to your family ?” asked Mrs. Hudson, sitting down at the other side of the table. “I came to the castle of the Blue Kingdom many years ago, and you all looked perfectly happy.”

Sherlock sighed. He had never told anyone this before. But the cake was delicious, Mrs. Hudson was nice, and it had been a long time since anyone had listened to him with interest.

“My mother was passionate about everything to do with fairies and magic. She often experimented. Two years ago one of her experiments went wrong and she and my father died. My brother was also affected but he survived.”

He took a break.

“But it changed him,” he continued. “He became colder and more distant, he didn't care about me anymore. All he thinks about now is clinging to power.”

He said the last sentence in a bitter tone. Mrs. Hudson listened to him attentively, and she said nothing, understanding that he hadn't finished saying everything he wanted to say.

“I don't think the accident alone is responsible for his change. He had already become more distant before. I mean, he was still spending a lot of time with me, but he still looked dreamy and barely listened to what I was saying to him. I guess he was thinking about the day he would finally ascend to the throne.”

“My poor boy,” said Mrs. Hudson. “You must have suffered a lot, but I assure you, everything will be all right.”

Sherlock simply replied with a faint smile. He didn't really believe her, but he appreciated her compassion. He finished his cake in silence, Mrs. Hudson looking at him.

“I'm tired,” he said after he had finished, “where can I rest ?”

“There's a cabin for you behind the farm, in the forest, you can go there,” said Mrs Hudson.

Sherlock got up, thanked Mrs. Hudson and went out the back door which led directly into the forest. He walked only a few yards before he arrived in front of the dilapidated wooden cabin that was meant for him. He opened the door with a sigh and collapsed against a wall, tired both in his head and in his heart.

At the same time, the castle of the Blue Kingdom was in turmoil. The guards, who had come out of their torpor, had not taken much time to discover the disappearance of the prince. In the throne room, Mycroft was pacing back and forth when Lestrade and the other ministers arrived.

“The prince remains untraceable,” said the prime minister. “We fear he has been kidnapped.”

“You're talking nonsense !” the king said with an exasperated tone. “He fled, and took the skin of the donkey with him, and all his belongings ! Send all our forces to search the kingdom and bring him back to me !”

“Dead or alive ?” asked Lestrade.

Mycroft stopped dead in his tracks and turned towards his minister.

“Alive of course !”

“What about the wedding ?” asked Lestrade, imperturbably.

“Suspend it, for the time being,” said Mycroft. “Now leave me alone, and don't come back until you find him.”

He walked towards the throne as the ministers bowed before leaving. As soon as they were gone, Mycroft sat on his throne.

“This is all your fault again,” he said.

John stepped forward until he was just beside the throne, but he didn't look at the king.

“I just helped him escape from a forced marriage, it's not a crime,” John said.

“You and I both know that your intentions are not altruistic.”

“But my motive is pure,” John replied, finally looking at him.

Mycroft had a joyless laugh.

“That's what you're trying to make people believe.”

“Your brother is not coming back,” said John.

Mycroft turned to him, hatred in his eyes.

“It won't make any difference,” he said curtly.

“On the contrary, it changes everything.”

And John disappeared, leaving Mycroft alone.

Sherlock had been sitting on the floor made of straw for at least an hour, doing his best to clear his head. Then he got up and decided to get to work. The cabin was unfurnished and rather shabby, but the roof and walls seemed to be perfectly watertight. He took out the silver stick that John had given him. It was the only magic object he had learned to use. Three times he hit the ground with it. This made his bed, chair, desk, mirror and the trunk containing all his clothes appear. He got rid of the donkey skin he always carried on his shoulders and put it on the chair. He put on his blue coat, his favourite despite the colour that painfully reminded him of his kingdom. Then, from the bottom of the trunk, he took out his violin, which he had never repainted. He sat down on his bed and began to play, really thinking of nothing for the first time that day.

The next day, Sherlock began working for Mrs. Hudson. He was doing jobs that he didn't really understand the purpose of, but assumed were related to her witchcraft. At first, and because he never went out without the donkey skin on his shoulders, the various people on the farm took pleasure in insulting him and calling him names. This quickly changed when he stopped in front of one of his assailants.

“The mud on your boots comes from the neighbouring farm,” he said, “and your clothes have black wax stains, like the candles from the new cook's house. Does your wife know about this ?”

The said wife then made a scandal in front of the whole farm, which ended up by her husband being thrown into the pig trough. All those who had previously made insulting Donkey Skin their favourite sport must have had secrets to hide, because he was never bothered again, they just ignored him. His life took a monotonous pace for a few weeks, repeating the same daily tasks in Mrs. Hudson's service. Until one day a messenger came to the farm, loudly announcing the visit of His Majesty the Prince of the Red Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter ! Next one will be out next saturday  
> As ever, feel free to leave comments !


	4. The prince's arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Moriarty comes to visit the farmhouse, and spot the little cabin in the wood.

Sherlock was not the least bit interested in the prince's visit to the farm. That's why he was almost surprised when he heard horse noises as he was resting at the edge of a stone fountain in the forest, slowly making circles in the water with his hand. He hadn't bothered to put on the donkey's skin because there was never anyone in this part of the forest normally, so he went to hide behind the fountain and watched the procession pass by. There were about ten horses, all painted red, which made Sherlock wince. Bad taste was in order in this kingdom too apparently, only the colour was different. Most of the riders were people from the court or guards, which Sherlock didn't find interesting. However, his eyes were drawn to the one who was in the middle of the whole party. He was a young man of his age, wearing a red and white cloak, red trousers and wearing a thin silver crown over his black hair, which was pulled backwards. He wore nothing under his cloak, revealing his bare chest, which Sherlock thought was strange for a prince while staring at him. He looked as if he was dying of boredom and didn't take part in the conversation of the people around him. Yet his voice rose, imposing silence on the others.

“Are we still far away ?” he asked.

“We are arriving, Lord Moriarty,” replied one of the lackeys.

The prince took the lead of the party, and Sherlock watched him go away, gradually disappearing from his sight. He felt his heart become heavy in his chest, and he could not immediately understand why. Yet the answer was obvious, for when he returned to his cabin he still had the image of the prince engraved on his retina.

Prince Moriarty was bored to death. He had been seated at the middle of a long table in the centre of the farm courtyard and people were bustling around him, bringing various dishes, each one less refined than the last. Not far away, three peasants were playing music, standing on a table, and the sound was giving him a headache.

“You have not eaten anything, my lord,” said a man sitting not far from him, pointing to his full plate.

“I am not hungry,” he replied.

“May I ?” said the woman sitting next to him, pointing to his full plate.

Moriarty just smiled at him. Taking it as an invitation, she reached out her hand to take the chicken leg from the plate. In one fell swoop, he brought his knife down on her hand. She screamed, bringing the musicians and any other noise to a halt.

“I didn't say yes,” he said without ceasing to smile at her.

He pulled out his knife and wiped it on the white tablecloth as the woman began to cry. She was taken away by two guards, obviously used to this kind of scene. Soon the conversations and music resumed, as if the prince had not just stabbed someone.

“Sometimes I think about the world and its weirdness,” said suddenly Moriarty when no one was talking to him.

“They say the world is going to stop,” one of the men at the table dared to reply.

He must have liked this answer because he started to laugh.

“Our fairies will start it up again !”

He looked at the man who had answered him, as if he was waiting for a reaction.

“I no longer believe in fairies my lord,” he said.

“You are wrong,” replied Moriarty, “I have known one. They are dark forces, they push us to act, right or wrong.”

He put the knife he still held in his hand on the table.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood up and put the sword he had left on the side of his belt. “I need some quiet.”

The same man who had spoken to him looked at him.

“Shall I come with you ?” he asked.

“I didn't say I needed company,” Moriarty replied as he left.

He walked across the courtyard into the forest. From there he could no longer hear the music and the unbearable babbling of the people of his court. No matter how much he protested, his parents had left him no choice but to come to this farm to show himself as a future sovereign. He smiled for himself. Soon, he could take the future out of the name. At this thought he was suddenly much happier and began to hum.

“Love hides within the heart  
Like a thief  
And secretely plans  
The heart's downfall  
Like a worm inside a cherry  
Recalling happy days”

It was an old song, he had read in a book that the fairy he had known in the past had given him. He wondered why it suddenly came back to him. Then he stopped and looked up. There was a parrot perched on the branch just above him. And it was humming the tune of the song. Then he listened even more. He could hear another source of music than the parrot's voice. He continued walking through the forest, getting closer and closer to the source of the music. It was the sound of a violin playing the exact tune of the song. Eventually he arrived in front of a dilapidated wooden cabin. This was clearly where the sound of the violin was coming from. He walked decisively towards the door and stopped dead in his tracks, as if he had just hit a wall. He put his hands in front of him. There was an invisible wall that prevented him from going any further. Clearly the result of a fairy spell. He walked along the wall until he found the end of it. From there he could approach the cabin. He climbed up a wooden ledge that gave him access to a window on the roof that gave a view overlooking the inside of the hut. He could see the violinist. He was sitting on a bed that was far too luxurious, and was wearing a long blue coat that was clearly inaccessible to a commoner who would live there. Moriarty stared at him with fascination. In a low, almost inaudible voice, he began to hum the words that went with the melody that the young man in the cabin was playing.

“Love, love, I love you so, I love you so  
Why do you knock  
At a time like this ?  
I've waited so long  
For you to bring me happiness”

The sound of the violin stopped. The young man was staring at him. He had heard him. Slowly he got up, put his violin on the bed and walked towards the window. Moriarty watched him take a chair and stand on it. He moved back slightly and let him open the roof window wide. They almost found themselves face to face.

“You are the prince,” said the young man.

“And you are ?” Moriarty asked with a big smile.

“Sherlock,” he replied simply.

Sherlock's gaze moved constantly from Moriarty's face to his bare chest, which only made Moriarty's smile wider.

“What's someone as... charming as you is doing in such a pitiful place ?” Moriarty asked.

“It's a long story,” Sherlock replied.

“I like long stories, at least as much as you like to look at me,” Moriarty replied.

Sherlock's cheeks blushed and he concentrated his gaze on Moriarty's face, which didn't help him much.

“Well ?” Moriarty said.

“Why don't you come in through the door ?” Sherlock asked.

“I can't, there's an invisible wall.”

Sherlock frowned and leapt from the chair. He walked out of the cabin through the door. Moriarty jumped off the wooden ledge and walked towards Sherlock. But the invisible wall was still there, and Sherlock couldn't get out any more than Moriarty could get in. Moriarty stood right in front of where Sherlock was, with his hands against the wall, trying to get through it. Moriarty placed his hands where Sherlock's hands were, a little violently, and he staggered, but he didn't move.

“Don't be afraid,” Moriarty whispered. “I can't touch you no matter how much I want to.”

Sherlock didn't answer, just stared at him.

“This is the work of a fairy, isn't it ?” Moriarty said.

“Yes, it is. But... I think he's doing it to protect me.”

Moriarty laughed.

“Fairies almost never do things for others, it's always in their own interests. Who are you ?”

“Sherlock,” he repeated.

“No, I'd heard that. I mean, what kingdom are you the prince of ?”

Sherlock bit his lips. But he didn't have to answer.

“Oh, you're the missing prince of the blue kingdom, aren't you ? Hence the colour of your coat ?”

Sherlock nodded.

“I'm sure your king would pay good money to know you're here !”

“No !” Sherlock exclaimed with a sudden look of panic.

Moriarty laughed.

“Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, I want to keep you all to myself.”

Suddenly, Moriarty punched violently at the invisible wall.

“If only I could get through !” he exclaimed.

Sherlock stepped back, slightly frightened. The prince calmed down as soon as he had become angry.

“It's not against you,” said Moriarty softly. “Come back.”

Without really knowing why he trusted him, Sherlock once again advanced at the level of Moriarty. He put his hand against the wall again and Moriarty did the same.

“You want to touch me too, don't you ?” Moriarty whispered.

“Yes, but I don't know why,” Sherlock replied, looking a little confused.

“You look so innocent,” Moriarty said with a tender smile. “I'll have some things to tell you when you'll be able to get out of here.”

Sherlock tried again to put his hand through the wall, without success.

“I don't think I can get out if a stranger is there.”

“Then I'll have to make you come to me,” Moriarty said.

“Without revealing who I am,” Sherlock added.

Moriarty had a large smile on his face.

“I've got a plan.”

Sherlock looked at him attentively.

“But it wouldn't be fun if I told you everything now.”

Moriarty began to back away.

“No, come back !” exclaimed Sherlock.

“Soon you will come to me,” Moriarty assured. “Be patient, my love.”

And with those words, he turned and ran away. Sherlock stood still for a long time, staring at the place where he had been before, his heart beating wildly in his chest, all misfortune forgotten.

Moriarty ran back to the farm. But he didn't go to the banquet table right away. He stopped in front of Mrs Hudson, who was spreading her laundry.

“Excuse me, madam,” he said with his most charming smile.

“What is it, Your Majesty ?” asked Mrs. Hudson with a flattered look.

“May I know the name of the young man who lives in the cabin in the forest ?”

She suddenly looked more suspicious.

“Donkey Skin, they call him that because he always wears a donkey skin on his back. Why do you...”

Moriarty didn't listen to the end of her sentence and returned to the banquet table. The other guests watched him sit down.

“Is everything all right, my lord ?” asked one of the women.

“Oh yes, I've just seen an angel,” said Moriarty.

He leapt to his feet.

“Get the horses ready, we're leaving !” he exclaimed.

No one dared to argue, and less than an hour later life on the farm had returned to normal, the prince forgotten as quickly as he had left.

One day at full speed later, the prince and all his party had returned to the castle of the Red Kingdom. Moriarty ran back into the castle, ignoring all the guards he passed, rushing up the stairs to reach his room. He threw his cloak and sword on the small throne next to the fireplace before jumping onto his bed. He used it as a trampoline for a few moments before falling backwards with his arms folded behind his head. Shortly afterwards, he saw his mother arrive in his room with a look of annoyance on her face.

“You're home already !” she exclaimed. “You weren't supposed to come back until tomorrow !”

“I'm sick.”

“Oh really ? Well, since you're so sick, you're not hungry, I'm not bringing you any dinner tonight,” she said.

Moriarty's response was to sigh and close his eyes.

“And there's a ball tomorrow, you absolutely must attend !” exclaimed his mother as she left.

As soon as she was gone, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had already forgotten about his mother's unpleasant visit. He was thinking of Sherlock. He imagined his face and a wide smile on the face. For the first time in many years he fell asleep with an empty stomach, but a full heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Moriarty appears :)  
> I hope you liked this chapter, and feel free to leave comments !  
> As ever, next chapter will be up next Saturday.


	5. Recipe for the space cake of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moriarty has a plan to make Sherlock come to him. But he's not the only person with a plan.

The next day, Moriarty did not leave his room once, not even in the evening when he could hear the ball taking place a few floors down. As he expected, as soon as he stopped hearing the music, he heard the footsteps of his mother, who was climbing the stone stairs with rage. He went a little lower under the blankets and closed his eyes.

“You're a disgrace !” she exclaimed as soon as she entered the room.

She didn't get an answer, so she approached the bed.

“Jim ! Jim ?”

Still no response.

“All right, I'll get a doctor, but if you're playing pretend, be prepared for the consequences,” she threatened as she walked away.

Moriarty knew only too well that the threat was real. He remembered the first time he had pretended to be sick. It was also the first time he had spent more than a day locked up in a cell. He was seven years old at the time. He could only imagine what his punishment would be now that he was an adult. So he wasn't going to leave anything to chance. As soon as he was sure that his mother wouldn't be back for several minutes, he jumped out of bed. He rushed to his desk and opened the drawer from which he pulled out a sheet of paper and a feather. He sat down at the desk and began to write the following message :

" _Dear doctor,  
I am sure that you and I both know very well that I am not ill. I am also sure that you and I know very well that if the Queen ever gets wind of this little lie, your short and pathetic life will end sooner than expected. I dare to wager that you will not make the mistake of not lying, nor of showing this message to the Queen.   
I do not ask much of you, just this : tell my mother that I am dying, and that the only remedy that exists is a recipe known only to Donkey Skin, a servant of her majesty who lives in the forest near the place from which the prince ( it's me!) has returned. Please don't twist my words, you really don't want a mistake to be made.  
Yours sincerely,  
Your future king, sooner rather than later_"

Satisfied with what he had just written, Moriarty went back to his bed, folding the paper small enough to hide it in his fist. No sooner was he back in bed than the doctor, a man in his fifties, entered his room, followed by the queen. Moriarty closed his eyes and waited. He heard the doctor approaching until he was just above him. The doctor began to examine him. When he took his pulse, Moriarty took the opportunity to slip the paper into his hand. Soon after, the doctor stood up and addressed the Queen.

“I'm going to need a moment's reflection before I give my diagnosis,” he said.

“Would you like me to leave you alone ?” asked the queen in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Please, Your Majesty.”

Moriarty heard his mother's footsteps walking away. Shortly afterwards, he heard the sound of a paper being unfolded, followed by a silence of a few minutes. Then it was the sound of paper being crumpled. Moriarty remained perfectly still during all this time, his eyes resolutely closed.

“I've made my diagnosis,” said the doctor loudly and clearly.

He heard his mother come back and then the doctor spoke :

“I'm afraid... your son is dying, Your Majesty,” said the doctor in a slightly shaky voice.

It was perfect, Moriarty thought. His mother would think he was afraid of her reaction, when he was just afraid of the threats he had just received.

“Dying ?” said the queen without any trace of emotion in her voice.

Moriarty was not surprised. He had never seen his mother express any emotion other than anger towards him, except on the rare occasions when she had expressed fear.

“Yes, Your Majesty. But there is a way to cure him.”

“Which is ?” she asked impatiently.

She clearly felt as if she was wasting her time.

“The only remedy that exists,” recited the doctor, “is a recipe known only to Donkey Skin, a servant of Her Majesty who lives in the forest near the place from which the prince has returned.”

Moriarty heard his mother sigh with exaggeration.

“Very well, send someone immediately to ask this... ... Donkey Skin to do what it takes to cure him,” said the queen as she left.

Moriarty didn't hear the answer of the doctor who had followed her. He opened his eyes and a smile appeared on his lips. Now he could only hope Sherlock was as smart as he thought he was.

Sherlock waited only three days. Three long days, thinking only about the prince. Until one morning, as he was pulling some weeds outside his cabin, he heard the sound of the hooves of a pair of horses and the wheels of a carriage. He turned around, instinctively folding the donkey's skin over his head. The carriage that was moving forward was small, and the two horses were red. Sherlock's heart missed a beat, but he knew it wasn't the prince who was coming back. For he had understood very well that the prince would not be able to get back into the cabin. This was confirmed when a man he didn't know, probably just a messenger, got out of the carriage and went straight to him.

“Are you Donkey Skin ?” he asked, the disdain more than evident in his voice.

Sherlock merely nodded.

“I've been sent by the Queen,” he said. “The prince is ill, and the doctor declared that only you have the recipe that could save him.”

“That's right,” he replied, hiding his smile.

He thought he understood the prince's plan.

“Do you have everything you need to prepare the remedy ?” asked the man who was visibly impatient.

“I do not.”

The man remained stunned for a moment.

“What do you mean you do not ?”

“I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for your prince,” Sherlock said. “It's not here in the middle of the countryside that I'm going to find the ingredients and materials for my recipe.”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment.

“Well... is... is there anything in the castle that will work ?”

Sherlock turned his back on the man so he couldn't see his half-triumphant smile, half admiring the prince's plan.

“I think so,” he said.

“Then come with us, and quickly,” said the man.

Sherlock turned towards him.

“I must get my things.”

Before he could protest, Sherlock went back into the cabin. He took the silver stick, left on the table, and struck the ground three times. All the furniture that had appeared the first time he had done this disappeared. He went out immediately and walked straight to the carriage and climbed into it.

“Well, what are you waiting for ?” he said to the man who had been standing stupidly in front of the cabin. “The prince is dying.”

The man didn't need that said it twice and got back into the carriage, ordering the coachman to launch the horses at a gallop.

At the same time, miles away, the castle of the Blue Kingdom was very silent. Mycroft was sitting alone on his throne. For days, weeks now, he had been waiting for a sign, a message, anything that could tell him that his brother was all right. He was dying to go looking for him himself, but he knew that to do so would be to give in to panic and he couldn't afford it. Never. So he waited, awaiting news. And the news finally arrived, but definitely not the one he was waiting for. He knew something was wrong as soon as Lestrade entered the throne room, a dark look on his face.

“Have you found him ?” he asked.

Lestrade took his time answering. First he approached the throne.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, we found him.”

And immediately he added :

“He is dead.”

Mycroft leapt to his feet.

“Are you sure ?” he asked in the most controlled tone he could.

“I am sure. The doctors identified the bones as belonging to him, comparing them to the various analyses that had been made on your late parents.”

“Leave me alone,” ordered Mycroft.

Lestrade obeyed and bowed quickly before leaving. Mycroft let himself fall on one of the steps leading to the throne, his legs now unable to support him. He buried his head in his hands. That was all he had wanted to avoid. Everything that shouldn't have happened. He felt as if his heart had just exploded. The pain was too much. Too unbearable. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head, a lost look on his face. John was standing right in front of him.

“It's okay to be sad,” he said.

He took Mycroft in his arms. The king let him, unable to protest.

“It's going to be all right, I'm here for you,” John whispered.

And he held him tighter in his arms. Mycroft didn't see him, but John couldn't help smiling. Indeed everything would be all right. For him at least.

When Sherlock reached the castle of the Red Kingdom, night was beginning to fall. He was guided to the large kitchen, and once there, he ordered to be left alone. Not wanting to antagonise the one who could save their prince, they obeyed him. Once alone, Sherlock got rid of the donkey skin and threw it on a chair. He took out the silver stick once more and hit the ground with it once, revealing his trunk. He opened it and took out two things: a thick book with a brown cover and a small, finely carved white wooden box. He opened the book to the page marked with a bookmark. It was his favourite cake, the only recipe he knew more or less. Moreover, it was quick to make, and knowing the prince was so close to him, he had almost no patience. He quickly went around the kitchen before he found all the ingredients he needed, apart from the flour. He then quickly searched his trunk and took out a glass container filled with a white powder. He had a little smile on his face. It was a more than perfect substitute. He began to bake the cake. He started by breaking the eggs. When he broke the first one, he was surprised not to see the white flowing out. He was even more surprised when a live chick came out of the shell and started to walk around on the counter. He swallowed. He knew it was a message. A sign that John was still watching him and that he knew exactly where he was. Sherlock decided he would worry about it later and continued. Apart from this incident it took him less than fifteen minutes to finish the cake. The wood fired oven was not yet fully warm. So he took the white wooden box he had previously taken out of the trunk and opened it. There were only two things inside. A pocket mirror with sapphire set on the back and a ring with a single diamond. Sherlock ignored the mirror, especially avoiding looking at it, and took the ring. It was his late father's wedding ring. He closed the box and put it back in the trunk. Then he slipped the ring into the cake dough before putting it in the oven.

Moriarty was at his bedroom's window when the carriage arrived at the castle. He had watched Sherlock, he knew it was him despite the hideous skin on his back. After that he had gone back to bed, but could not rest. He thought only of Sherlock, without that hideous skin on him of course, or anything else for that matter. Every time that thought crossed his mind he couldn't stop a smile from appearing on his lips. Finally, almost two hours later, the doctor arrived in his room, bringing the cake Sherlock had made. Moriarty pretended to be asleep once again and put it beside the bed before leaving, obviously not wanting to be alone in the same room with the prince for too long. And he was right, thought Moriarty, who stood up in the bed and took the cake as soon as he had left. It was still warm but the prince didn't care and bite into it without even bothering to cut a slice. He stopped suddenly at the third bite. He put the cake down and put his hand to his mouth. He took out the ring, which he had almost swallowed. Moriarty smiled, wiped it off his sheets and slipped it to his ring finger. It fit him perfectly. He put the cake down by the bed and laid down again, admiring the ring on his finger.

“It suits you perfectly,” said a voice that the prince immediately recognised.

Moriarty turned his head with a wide smile. Then he had an expression of shock that didn't last long, just long enough for him to understand. Sherlock was standing in front of him, even if he hadn't saw him enter.

“What did you put in the cake ?” Moriarty asked. “I mean, what did the you who isn't a hallucination put in the cake ?”

The Sherlock that the prince was hallucinating climbed onto the bed before answering.

“There was no more flour.”

This made Moriarty laugh out loud. But when he calmed down, to his great regret, the hallucination was gone. He touched the spot on the bed where he had climbed up a few seconds before with an absent air, the mist gradually dissipating from his brain.

“There wasn't enough of it to make it work for too long.”

Moriarty turned his gaze towards his bedroom door and smiled again. Sherlock, the real one this time, was there. The prince stood up while the other looked at him, and he slowly approached Sherlock with a predatory look on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it !


End file.
